Shard of Happiness
by Adamadillo
Summary: Sometimes, just when you think you've got everything figured out-    You lose a piece of the puzzle.    One Santana, with Puck's help, is determined to get back.    Rated M for: Abuse, Violence, Sexual content and possible trigger warning.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a normal day- or so Santana had assumed.

She'd gotten up at six- in the fucking morning- spitting and cursing as she rolled over, falling out of the bed and succeeding in starting the day in the worst way she could think of. Expect maybe waking up to Barney the fucking purple ass dinosaur dry humping her leg or some shit-

Fucked up drinks give you fucked up dreams, she remembered not to mix vodka and some random green shit that someone had handed her.

After a few seconds of laying in a daze, she pulled herself off the carpet and stood up, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand as she looked at the side of the bed opposite hers. A rare smile graced her lips, taking in the side of long, blonde hair draping over naked shoulders and the few strands that trailed off, making their place over parted lips. Santana couldn't help but lean over slightly, one hand on the bed to steady herself as the other brushed the few wandering hairs out of the girl's face. Looking at her like this, quiet and at ease- so contrasting to the memories of dazed eyes, flushed face, loud whimpers and long dancer's legs wrapped tightly around her waist from hours prior- she could feel a smirk tugging at her lips as she felt the urge to lean forward just a bit more, and claims those lips for her own once again.

She did- but only a small brush of skin; she had no urge to wake her just yet. As much as she loved seeing those pretty blue eyes flutter open- she wanted to let her rest. After all, she'd been running around constantly nowadays.

Santana couldn't help but sigh, adoptions were such a pain in the ass- why couldn't they just give them the kid, and leave it be?

Yes, she and Brittany were going to adopt a child.

It was the only thing left to completely their family- or so, Brittany had said- but Santana didn't bother to complain, or to question it too much because no matter what she had thought, watching Quinn go through the horror of losing a child- a small part of her longed for it. It wasn't really maternal- she didn't have the urge to coddle the baby, cooing sweet words and making funny faces- that wasn't her style.

What she longed for was to see that- to see Brittany with a small child in her arms, to wrap her arms around her waist from behind, lean her chin on her shoulder and look down quietly at small hands stretching up towards them both.

She'd never been so sappy before- Santana had never longed for something like this, something so _meaningful_- but she found recently that the very thought of being away from the girl in the bed beside her was painful. She'd do anything to keep around this precious shard of happiness that she'd finally been granted after all the years of meaningless sex and hollow relationships.

Highschool had been a long, torturous time. Endless months of self harm- though she never made a physical mark, the psychological damage was done- she hid who she was, desperately putting on a mask of cruelty and throwing her body around like it didn't matter. Though, at the time- she didn't think it did.

But she'd always had Brittany; sweet, innocent, naive Brittany- the girl who had been by her side, no matter what- forever loving, forever faithful. The times when Santana felt like the world was meaningless, she was meaningless- when the urge to pick up her Father's hunting gun and just pull the trigger became too great- she'd always be there, with a ear to speak into, and a shoulder to lean on, comforting words and sweet smiles, enough to give to the entire world if needed. She was the girl every guy wanted- no, _needed_- even if they didn't know it, and she felt selfish for the fact that she wanted to keep that to herself, to hide Brittany away from everyone else and have her love her, unconditionally.

It was obsessive- a feeling that frightened Santana, such a strong pull on her heart- something so deeply rooted into her that she couldn't understand it, didn't want to- so she hid from it.

As it turned out, she could only hide her feelings for so long.

She certainly didn't expect her confession to go smoothly- and she'd been completely right. Brittany had tried to reach out to her afterwards- but the wounds, the humiliation- it was all too fresh. All too real in a world that had been made up of nothing but fantasies- and Santana couldn't handle it.

In hindsight, dating Karofsky wasn't the smartest of ideas.

Back then, thinking things through hadn't been her priority, mind you.

It hurt Brittany to see them together- Santana knew that. Though, not that she had much choice- one rainy day made sure of that.

Santana had found Brittany, alone in the park- sitting on one of the swings by herself- she'd been soaking wet, and even while avoiding her feelings, Santana wasn't about to leave her there. So she'd held her umbrella out to the other girl- scolding her for being stupid enough to forget her umbrella, though it wasn't unusual for her- and before she'd knew it, she'd had an armful of sopping wet blonde. She'd hit her, hit her, and did things all around out of character for the usually sweet girl.

Which meant that Santana had _majorly_ fucked up this time.

Eventually she'd stopped striking out at her, and Santana spent around an hour, sprawled out on the grass, under the rainclouds as she ran her hand through wet locks of hair as she sniffled into her neck. Santana had murmured gentle words, apologies and as much truth as she could give her.

She'd told her how much she really loved her- because in that moment, she didn't fear Brittany rejecting her. As long as it dried those baby blues- she didn't care if she got rejected a hundred times over.

Though she didn't complain when Brittany accepted this time.

That had been it. After that, they had dated through highschool, attended college in Newyork together- and were currently living in an apartment that they both paid for, Brittany with her dancing lessons and Santana still in school, attempting to earn her degrees and get a job at a law firm.

While she wasn't studying, she worked at Starbucks.

Yeah- it fucking _sucked_- and she almost got fired the other day for dropping a cup of coffee down some dickwad's pants, but it was worth it.

Sure there were struggles, some days where they worried about making rent, or about paying off student loans-

"Santana?"

She smiled at the sleepy murmur that rose beside her, leaning over as Brittany leaned up, their lips meeting in the middle- "Good morning, Brittany."

But for the moment, she had everything she ever wanted right here, and as soon as the forms went through, their family would be complete.

At the time, it didn't seem like anything could possibly ruin all of that.

How wrong she had been.

Just a small authors note here, to say—this is pretty old, by my standards. A couple months, and to be honest, the ideas kind of sketchy throughout—I may go back and re-write things, just for consistency purposes.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana eventually managed to work up the energy to get up, get dressed, eat(Brittany wasn't going to let her leave if she didn't), then head out the door.

To go to Starbucks.

Oh, she was overjoyed, trust her.

It had been basically been nothing but a few, _long_ ass hours of dealing with dumbasses she didn't like, making drinks she didn't like, working with people she didn't like.

As well as dealing with a boss she _didn't fucking like_.

But eventually, after the long _torturous_ hours, her shift finally ended and she started to make her way back to the apartment.

She usually enjoyed the walk back. Not only because it wasn't work- but she took the time to wonder what Brittany had done all day, then mentally

Usually, the closer she got to her home, the more she started to feel relaxed- the thought of being able to see Brittany instantly made her start to unwind.

But there was something off today.

It felt as if each step she took was heavier, each second was longer- so much harder to take in air as she shakily tried to control her breathing.

It was almost as if she was scared- _terrified_ to get a step closer to her apartment.

Why?

She had to stop- right before the corner, just another turn and she'd basically be home- but her knees locked up, her throat closed and she was filled with something she hadn't felt in years.

Pure _terror_.

She was confused as hell, she didn't know what the fuck was going on- she did _not_ like it.

Santana fucking Lopez was not going to stand here, quaking in fear- especially over _nothing_. She was going to straighten up, turn the corner, and march up to her apartment like a fucking _man_-

And possibly have sex with Brittany on the kitchen counter. But that was more of an added thought.

So, Santana did just that. She took a deep breath, straightened herself out, and finally turned the corner-

Only to be met with a sight that she wasn't expecting- a scene she couldn't even _dream_ of-

Something straight out of some sort of sick, twisted _nightmare_.

There were police cars crowded around the building- a lot of people, their neighbours- they were hovering around outside, looking frantic. Looking scared- Santana didn't see anyone injured, didn't see fire, or someone on a stretcher- so what the fuck had happened?

That's when she saw it.

One of the windows- completely smashed, like someone had taken a baseball bat to it.

It was their window.

Santana honestly didn't know that she could run that fast- a few people called out to her, mostly officers, a few worried friends- but that didn't matter because

Brittany.

Was she okay?

She had been alone, did she get hurt?

Why wasn't she outside?

Once she had finished nearly flying up the stairs, she finally got to their room. The few cops at the door tried to keep her out, but she managed to squeeze here way in- "Don't tell me not to come into my own fucking apartment! Brittany! Where's Brittany! Where-"

Her breath caught in her throat, and anything else she was going to say immediately died on her tongue, because the apartment- their _home_-

It was ruined.

Any piece of furniture in her line of sight was either out of place, or completely destroyed. She could see the windows had been smashed- glass scattered everywhere, nothing left on the actually sill itself. The bookshelf was knocked over- the lamp destroyed- there wasn't a single thing in the apartment that hadn't been damaged in some way or another. But that wasn't the thing that caught her attention- caught her eye- the thing that knocked the wind out of her and made her throat tighten and her stomach drop.

It was the blood- not a few specks, not a light wound- large, prominent stains that stood out in the chaos like a bull's-eye.

There was so much blood- so much-

Where was Brittany?

Santana had a default mechanism when she was upset, confused or depressed.

Anger.

Right now- she was all of the above, and she could feel her blood boiling under her skin, mixing in with the conflicting chill of fear and concern.

Hot and cold at the same time- so many emotions at once- she felt she was going to burst-

So she decided to take it out on the cop.

She needed answers.

There was an officer standing in the doorway- and in a few seconds she had him by the collar, jerking him towards her and snarling- "Where the hell is Brittany?" He looked surprised for a moment, before he gave a deadpan expression- leaning towards sympathy and fuck, fuck she was going to punch him in the face-

"We don't know."

Santana could have sworn the room froze for a minute, or maybe she just stopped paying attention, or she was too fucking angry because- "What the fuck do you _mean_, you don't _know_?"

"She isn't here," He explained- thank you Capitan fucking jackass- "when we got the call about a disturbance, we came to an empty apartment- we were just told recently that there were occupants living here. I'm assuming you're Santana Lopez?"

Santana wasn't sure what she wanted to do first. It involved murdering him, finding Brittany and killing whichever jackass was responsible for this. If possible, she'd do all three at once- "Yes," she hissed, not caring at all that she was probably being rude, or hard to work with because for fucks sake, her girlfriend was missing- "I am Santana fucking Lopez, and I'd like to know where my _fucking_ girlfriend is!"

"Miss, I know you're concerned-"

"Understatement of the year, Jackass."

"But we're doing the best we can. It will really help us if you cooperate, and keeping your temper will contribute to that more."

She could almost handle the lecture. She could _almost_ handle how he tried to give her a look akin to sympathy, that just came out fucking deadpan- but what she could not handle-

What she would _not_ fucking deal was the way he was acting like this wasn't a big deal- like this was just another case, just another girl- like it wasn't the love of her fucking _life_ that was missing- and to even suggest Santana calm down- she fucking lost it.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that, you fucker," Her voice was raising, other people were looking- fuck, people outside could probably hear but she couldn't bring herself to care, "she's missing. She's missing and you don't give a shit- fine, you don't know her- what the fuck ever. Don't act like you actually care, I don't give a _fuck_ if you do- just make sure you find her."

By the time she had finished, she was out of breath. More than half the room was staring at her, some concerned, some frightened and others slightly irritated- all of them could go fuck themselves. The room was suddenly too small, there wasn't enough air and everyone was a fucking _idiot_.

She needed out-

So, she left.

Grabbed her coat off the chair, pushed her way pas the cops and ran out as fast as she could. Santana vaguely heard people call after her, telling her to calm down, she was in danger –all that bull shit but she knew that if she stayed in there a second longer, stayed and there and looked at it all; The blood, the glass, the damage and the fact that Brittany _wasn't there_ then she'd break down. She'd break down and she couldn't afford that, not right now.

She had to focus.

Being from the underground, from the slums as she was, she'd learned a few things in life. Other than how to steal, lie and fuck- she'd learned _never_ to trust the police. To serve and protect- that was total bullshit. All they were was power hungry, they beat you down so you remember who's in charge and it's never the other way round. Someone like that wouldn't give two shits about Brittany -where she was, or if she was okay. They'd be no help- so that left it up to Santana. Which was fine- like she wanted anyone else poking their noses where they didn't belong?

This was Santana's fight. It was her woman- 'partner' they'd messed with. So she'd pay whoever the fuck it was back tenfold, and make sure that the only way they'd get out of the situation with their fucking _life_ was if they got down on their knees and _begged_.

Even then, it depended on how scared Brittany was.

But that lead to another set of questions. Who would take her? Why? Was it something against Brittany, or…

Santana didn't want to think about that- think about the fact that Brittany might have been taken, might be hurt or…_worse_- all because of her.

But that was the only thing that made sense, wasn't it? Brittany was sweet and pure. Maybe not entirely innocent, but she was a genuinely nice person. Nice to everyone she met and always trying to keep everyone else's best intentions in mind. Not a single person she'd ever come across had grown to do anything but _adore_ her, and that was just it. You met Brittany and you fell in love with her, simple as that.

So no one would want to hurt her-

Unless they were using her.

But why? I mean- Santana knew she was a pretty nasty person, pissed a lot of people off- but something to merit _this?_

What had she _done?_

"I can tell you."

Startled, Santana whipped herself around, ready to beat the answers out of anyone who may have them-

Only to come face to face with someone she hadn't seen in a long, _long_ time, even though she recognized that dumb ass Mohawk…

"Son of a bitch…" She muttered, grinning slightly despite the current situation, "Noah fucking Puckerman. What the hell are you doing here?"

Puck walked a bit closer, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his black coat as he shrugged a bit, "I was in the neighbourhood."

"Bullshit." Santana said, deadpan and Puck simply smiled a bit. It was…out of character for the usually rebellious teen- then again, he wasn't a teen anymore, was he? "You said you could tell me. Tell me what?" It suddenly came back to her that she didn't have time for any sappy reunions, and she scowled. "Because if this is just for some shitty oh I missed you and I want to reconnect bullshit then I swear to god, I don't have the fucking _time-"_

"I know where Brittany is."

That caught her attention pretty quickly."

"Are you serious?" She asked, frantic "Where!"

"I'll tell you, but not here. Too crowded. Let's move locations." He didn't say another word as he turned and started walking, and Santana was this close to kicking him in the back of the head and telling him to go fuck himself. But she had this feeling. This feeling that if she didn't go with him, didn't follow Puck to wherever he was going-

She would never see Brittany again.

"And THIS is any less fucking crowded, Jackass?"

Santana's eyebrow twitched, eyes narrowing as she glared at Puck from across the table. They had walked nearly twenty minutes, until they eventually stopped at a little cafe she'd never heard of until now- it was nice, sure. But if he wanted to speak privately, then this didn't seem like the best choice of fuckin' venue.

"No, but its fine. No one will ask here." Was all the explanation he gave, as he picked up his cup and took a sip of_ridiculously_ bitter looking coffee. Santana didn't have a particular sweet tooth- but Jesus. "Onto the business at hand?"

"You sound like a fucking social worker."

"And you're just as much of a bitch as always." What may have seemed offensive actually helped to settle the mood, previous a bit awkward considering the time they'd been apart. But it was a joke, just like the old days and Santana nearly smiled despite herself. "Can I talk now, Jackass?"

"No one's stopping you, dipshit." She said with a bit of a smirk, which fell when Puck's face once again took on a deadly serious expression.

"Brittany was kidnapped, and they intend to kill her."


	3. Chapter 3

Santana was staring at Puck, dumbstruck, from across the table. As stupid as it sounds she's fucking lucky she hadn't taken a sip of her drink, or else his face would be bright red from the coffee she'd have spit on his _face_.

"I said-"  
>"I know what you said!" she snapped, slamming her palms flat against the table, making it shake and the cups rattle on their plates. There were people staring, but neither of them looked away from each other- Puck's face deadpan as Santana looked like she was going to reach over the table and <em>shank <em>him.

His voice lowered a bit as he spoke, barely louder in a whisper- "Calm down. I know you're agitated and want to find her, but you making a scene and getting our asses dragged out of here and into the police station for causing a public disturbance_won't do a thing_. Sit the fuck down." Puck had learnt over the years that there were only two ways to get Santana to listen to you- Get angry, or be Brittany. So he obviously went for the former, which seemed to work, even though she sat down rigidly. "Let me explain."

"Then hurry up before I really do slit your throat with a fucking bagel."

Santana always did have the strangest insults. "She was taken by a gang. South side, is all they call themselves."The name rung an almost familiar bell in Santana's head, but she ignored it as Puck continued to speak. "They're known for a few things. Being flashy and being _dangerous_. Each of their members is on some sort of wanted list, and they've been responsible for a lot of underground murders."

"How do you know these people took Brittany?" She asked, sceptical. She wanted to believe him, but at the same time she didn't. If she was being honest, she really would have liked to believe that Brittany had gone to the park to feed ducks and forgot to call again.

But she knew that wasn't the case.

When she looked at Puck for his answer, he had the…strangest look on his face. Something Santana had never seen- especially from Puck of all people. It was a mix of a couple emotions- grief, anger and guilt. Like a man who had just been possessed by a demon and shot the love of his life, or some shit like that.

"It's a long story, Santana."

"I have time." That was a lie, obviously a fucking lie, both of them knew it but neither of them said anything. Puck needed to tell this story and Santana needed to hear it.

"You remember Sam, Right?"

"Evans?"

"Yeah."

Santana gave him a look, but nodded quickly. Of course she remembered him, that blonde dumbass with the trouty mouth. After the awkward dating experience, and when both of them came out, they ended up getting pretty close. He was into the dorkiest shit you've ever heard of and could propose to you in Navi, but he was a sweet guy.

"Well, we started dating after high school."

_There_ was a shocker, Santana thought. She had a couple questions- mostly wondering if Puck was gay or not- but decided to let him continue.

"We dated for two years afterwards. It was nice, really. At first It was really weird, being with a guy and all, at first I figured it'd be a couple days then I'd get too freaked out and book it. Just bail like I always did- but I didn't. I stayed, because he was too much of an adorable fucking dork not to. We did all that sappy shit. Watching movies together, going on dates, writing each other notes- the stuff I would have thrown a kid in a dumpster in for before, but I have to admit- it was nice. Half the time it didn't occur to me that I was dating a guy, or that I was gay- he was just Sam. And I had to admit, I loved him."

It was like she was looking at an entirely different person, looking at Puck now. The stupid, reckless teenager had turned into a responsible young man. She was almost proud, but there was still something- "You're talking about him like he's not around anymore, Puck."

"He's dead."

She nearly choked on her drink, eyes going wide as she stared at Puck a bit dumbstruck. So this was how Brittany must have looked to a lot of people, huh? "Shit…" Santana muttered under her breath as no other words came to mind.

"It was them…" His fingers were laced together, curled tightly on the top of the table as he tried to control his anger. "The South side- it was them."

"Why? What did they want with Sam?"

"Revenge." He spat out bitterly and Santana, she could see his hands starting to go white- "I fucked up. I decided to mess with a few of their members because I thought I could handle it, thought I was tough enough shit. It was fine, I was strong enough to kill a couple members- but I underestimated them. I didn't think they'd go that far, waste so much time- but they did. They're strict, Santana, and they don't do anything directly. If you mess with them, then they mess with you. An eye for an eye."

"And they…?" Santana didn't even need to finish her question, because it was fucking obvious that they had-

"Killed him."

She didn't know how to react, really. Santana wasn't a sympathetic person and had absolutely no idea how to comfort someone, let alone console someone with something that heavy. To think that something like that had happened- could happen was almost mind boggling. She'd heard of gang violence before, how shit could get pretty bad and people got hurt- but this didn't sound like something from a gang. This sounded as if she was messing with the fucking _mafia_. Realizing this made her realize something else, made her realize just _how much_ trouble Brittany could be in.

How badly she could get hurt.

"How do you know they're the ones who took Brittany?" She did feel bad, for seemingly ignoring his situation- but if he was offended, he didn't show it and just leaned back in his seat, his voice evening out back into its normal tone.

"This is their style." He explained. "It's what they do. Wait until you're gone, go into your home, break everything they can get their hands on and then take what's most important to you- or who, in this matter."

"Anyone can smash a house."

"But nothing else can give me this feeling." Santana went quiet, and he mumbled under his breath, "I just know it's them. It's the same feeling- someone important to me getting snatched away, that feeling of dread, but mostly…"

"That feeling of anger." He punctuated that statement with a quick jab downwards, and as the table rattled she realized there was now a very sharp looking switch blade embedded in the wood of table. She hadn't seen him switch it, let alone take it out of anywhere. "I can feel it, I know it's them."

There are certain times when you don't question something. You just go along with it, even if you don't know if it's right or not you just go along with it- because you just do. This was one of those times for Santana, and she felt herself nodding even if she _was_ still sceptical. Whether she liked it or not, Puck seemed to know what he was talking about. He also seemed a lot stronger than he used to be- in a way that impressed her, and to her annoyance almost s_cared_ her. Just a bit, though. It seemed as though when high school ended, the two of them lived completely different lives-Which was true, really. Santana had been busy living with Brittany and planning the rest of her life, while Puck had been busy losing the love of his life and working up the will just to get up the next morning. For the first time in their lives, it seemed like the two of them were on two completely different levels. But one thing that remained constant was that they were both there for each other, lesbros for life as Puck had once said.

"You get how serious this is?" Santana nodded her own expression calm as she tried to keep herself from panicking. "Good. Then I'm going to tell you what we do from here?"

"We?" She questioned, and Puck just breathed out a quiet chuckle, grinning at her in the way someone would an oblivious eight year old who just asked if Saint fuckin' Nicholas was on the roof with question, a laugh and a nod.

"Of course. You didn't think I'd tell you all this then say "Well, nice seeing you, good luck finding Brittany." I might as well just tell you to fuck off and leave you with the check." She rolled her eyes at him, giving him that look. That look that she gave anyone who was annoying her, or challenged her authority, usually before she went on her rant about being from Lima heights and having razor blades n her hair or some other shit. A look that gave him such a sense of nostalgia that he almost wanted to cry- because, fuck, he felt old. "We're in this together. I'm going to help you, and we're going to get Brittany back- but it may get ugly."

"This is a dangerous world to get into, Santana. I know what you'll say- that you're tough, you can handle it- but this is different than school. This is different than glee club- a slushie turns into a bullet, and suddenly you're tagged and laying in the morgue. I know you're tough, but it's just that…this life changes people."

"Like it changed you?"

Puck froze for a second, before giving a small smile which was anything but happy and leaning towards amused and downright depressing."Yeah, like me. I can't guarantee you'll be the same person after we're done. I also can't guarantee what'll happen to Brittany- but this is a decision you have to make. But I can tell you this. No one else is capable of finding her, and I seriously believe that we can get her home safe." He opened the sides of his coat slightly, and in both pockets Santana could see something- on the left was a small, black razor cell phone, and on the right-

"Is that a handgun?" Santana hissed softly, not sure if she was more shocked that Puck had one or more wondering why the hell he was stupid enough to flash it in a fucking cafe. "What is this, the fucking matrix? Am I supposed to choose between going home or the fucking rabbit hole? If you're pulling some shit, I swear to god even if it's not loaded I will _beat_ you with that gun, Puckerman."

"This isn't a movie, Santana." He said, shaking his head before closing his coat again. "That's my phone and gun. If you agree to this, then you'll get your own pair. I'll teach you to shoot, and we'll start gathering information as soon as we can and find them, and Brittany. But you'll do some bad things. You'll probably kill more than a handful of people by the time we're done, and that shit's heavy on the conscious. Are you ready for this? If you're not then I understand- I think Brittany would understand too."

At this point, it seemed like her choices were between two things. One, learning to shoot a gun, possibly becoming a murderer as well as being wanted by people who sounded like they, at the moment could kick her ass and leave her in a ditch and no one would be the wiser. Sounded scary as shit, and it was more than likely that all of this could just fuck up and she'd end up dead. On the other hand, the only other option was to do nothing. To sit back and just let them get away with taking Brittany, taking her family away. The other option was sitting back, waiting and hoping that by some sort of fucking miracle that Brittany would come back to her.

"I'm an atheist."

There was a lull between them, before Puck spoke up with a perplexed expression. "…What?"

"I'm an atheist." She repeated, crossing her arms over her chest and straightening in her seat. "I don't believe in god, or miracles or any of that shit. I believe that if you want to get something fucking done, then you have to do it yourself."

"I'm not going to just sit around and do nothing. There are only a few things I know for sure, right now. Brittany's missing and I need to find her. How I get to the fucking destination doesn't mean much right now, so I don't give a shit about anything that happens in between. If I have to kill someone, so be it. If I have to kill a hundred people, so fucking be it. I'm getting her back, Puckerman. That's all there is to it."

It seemed like the entire place had gone dead silent, and Santana was partially wondering if she had come off like a fucking idiot or something. She wasn't actually atheist, mind you- but she wasn't religious. If there was no god, there was no god- if there was, he could kiss her ass. It just sounded like a cool thing to say. Eventually, Puck spoke again, lips curled into a mix between a smile or a smirk, like he couldn't decide if he was amused or generally fucking pleased.

"Perfect. We'll find a hotel to crash at, and then tomorrow we'll start your training."

"What kind of training, exactly?" Santana asked with an eyebrow raised above her hairline, but Puck just tossed a couple bills onto the table and got up, heading for the door.

If he thought he was going to boss her around, that dumbass had another thing coming.


	4. Chapter 4

Santana figured shooting a gun couldn't be that hard— hold, aim, pull the trigger. Repeat until you're the last fucker standing, and it'd all be good.

At least, she _figured_—

Which proves to be wrong, and she's cursing at the fact that every time she tries to aim, whenever she pulls the trigger it feels like the fucker's going to pull her god damn _wri_s_t_ off. Puck's saying something about 'backlash' in the background, but she's too busy cursing in any language she can remember at the moment as she tries to get the _fucking_ can off the _fucking fence_—

Did she mention fuck?

"Your aim sucks." A voice behind her chimes, and Santana has to resist the urge to turn around and beat Puck in the face with the gun— she can't fuckin' shoot it yet, but she's still pretty sure she can kill someone with it if she really tried hard enough.

She settles for grumbling angrily under her breath as she raises the gun again, "No fucking _shit_ sherlock." And he just sighs, making his way over and taking hold of her hands in his own—

"…Don't give me that look." His eyebrow twitches as he notices his friend looking at him like 'what the fuck are you doing I'm a lesbian', which is a look he got often in high school. "I'm just helping you with your aim— and no, I'm not going to attempt to feel you up, if that what you mean." With a bit of a smile, he takes one hand away to hold it out in front of view— "I'm a married man, remember?"

Ouch.

Well that certainly gives Santana a small pang of guilt, but she's not going to show it— she just clicks her tongue and turns her head away from him, shaking away the one remaining hand as she holds the weapon up to aim again. "I wasn't worried about that, dumb ass— I can just do it myself."

"You're a rookie—"

"I'm a fast learner." She corrects as she cuts him off, and her eyes are trained on that fucking piece of tin again. Aim, steady, and…

_Bang_.

It just barely skims the side of it, but it's enough to knock it off balance— it tumbles off the fence backwards, and Santana has to resist the urge to start shooting in the air like a hillbilly or something. So she'll settle for cursing; "Fuck yeah!"

Behind her, Puck's just shaking his head— she didn't even hit it dead on. But he has to admit, she's good. It's only been about a week since they've started, and she's already starting to get the handle of it—

That's Santana, for you.

Deciding to give her a bit of encouragement, he claps— which only proves to gain him a swift knock upside the head, and he hisses as he rubs the side of his head. "…What the hell was that for, you bitch?"

"For clapping as if I'm a fucking show dog." She snorts, "Twit."

Of course any compliments on her would be lost— he should have known that.

Sighing, Puck rubs the back of his neck as he speaks. "You're getting better— but you've got a while to go. But you learn best from experience, right?" A hesitant nod in response, and his lips curl into a grin. "Then be ready at six tonight, we're going out for a little fun—"

"A bar?"

"Better."

This wasn't what she had in mind when he said 'better'.

It's early summer— but it's still the middle of the night, so black shorts and a black v neck is _so_ not doing it for her right now. Hair up and gun nestled in the holster on her hip, she crosses her arms over his chest as she hisses— well more like chatters out. "What the fuck are we _doing_, Puckerman?"

The only response she gets? "Work."

She's so, _so_ tempted to take one of her boots off and chuck it at his fucking _head_, but as they come up to a building


End file.
